Reay Jespersen

There are things that demand certain replies. Which isn’t to say that other responses are inherently wrong so much as they somehow… don’t suffice. Carson pored over his workbench, examining each tool closely; each one considered carefully. Dozens of possibilities.
There was a murmur behind him. Carson glared over his shoulder at the naked, gagged man strapped to the table; the man who had killed Carson’s only child and had gotten off on a legal technicality.
Carson turned back to his workbench, and his eyes fell immediately onto the right implement, glinting coldly.
There are things that demand certain replies.